The Cost of Everything

Every morning, at exactly half past ten, the earth pony Sugar Song would visit Twilight Sparkle for tea. 

Of all the ponies Twilight had met since living in the village, Sugar Song was the one she liked best for many reasons. One such reason, for example, was that she was never late and never early, always promptly on time, bringing with her freshly baked pastries Twilight had a hard time not devouring all at once. 

Her voice was another reason, and her name was an apt description for it. When she spoke, it was as though her every word strung together into a sentence like a sweet song, gentle and melodic and easy on Twilight’s now very sensitive ears—the loss of one sense had improved all the others, you see, for better or worse. 

Finally, or, rather, most importantly, she treated Twilight just as she did anypony else. 

She didn’t ask questions about her past or her injury, but rather whether Twilight had liked the peach strudel better than the almond one, and which she thought would sell best. She didn’t trip over herself trying to do things for the blind pony and instead did the bare minimum, only assisting if Twilight herself asked for the help. 

She reminded Twilight very much of Fluttershy. 

So much so, in fact, that after one of Sugar Song’s visits, she wept over her friend when she was sure she was home alone. She couldn’t bear to openly mourn otherwise, unwilling to add to the mountain of guilt she knew her Lady already carried. 

Regardless, Sugar Song was a good friend and was generally discreet. 

Which is why Twilight was surprised when, one day, she sought permission to ask a personal question. Twilight hesitated.. It had been months since the Lady stopped her spell over the town, the deception now firmly sewn into the fabric of the town’s psyche, but Twilight still feared a single misspoken word might have it all come undone, and any one of them could betray them to the royal guards. 

Not that Twilight would personally care. She would gladly and proudly stand by her crime and accept any repercussions she must, but she knew the Lady would give herself in to try and save her, and that Twilight could not allow. 

“Sure,” Twilight said, staring into the dark void. “What’s your question?”

“The creature,” Sugar began, and Twilight struggled not to look as though every hair on her coat stood on end. Had they been found out? “Why don’t you hate it?”

Twilight blinked. “…What do you mean?”

“You…” She could hear Sugar treading carefully. Practically see in her mind’s eye the spoon clinking against the cup as the mare nervously stirred her tea. “Aren’t you angry at what it’s done to you? It tricked you into killing the king, and then it almost killed you, and now you can’t see or go home.”

Twilight must have reacted visibly because no sooner had Sugar spoken, she was already apologizing. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“I’m not upset,” Twilight lied. Of course, she was upset, even if she shouldn’t be. These lies were necessary for their protection. The Lady herself had crafted them, so Twilight should be fine with it. And yet… she could not help the anger in her heart to see her Lady’s good name so disparaged. 

“It’s just… You’re so at peace,” Sugar continued. “I don’t know if I could be. I think I’d go and hunt her myself if I was in your horseshoes.” Twilight felt Sugar’s hoof on hers. “You’re a good pony, Twilight.”

Twilight smiled awkwardly. She was not a good pony. She was also not a bad pony. The Lady was a good pony, she knew that for certain, but Twilight herself? She was just what she was, a normal pony like everyone else, trying to make the best out of a situation she had no qualms about to begin with. 

“Why are you asking?” Twilight inquired after a moment. 

An eternal silence followed. 

“I was just curious.” Twilight could hear the hesitation in her voice, and then the relief as Sugar changed the topic. “Oh, your tea is almost gone! Why don’t I make us some more? I’ll be right back.”

And just like that, that was that. 

Twilight had always considered herself a good listener, but losing her sight had transformed her into a remarkable one. It mattered little what she was doing, or how deep in her thoughts she was, she was always aware of the sounds life made around her. 

For example, she knew exactly who’d entered their home based on the weight of their gait; she could also guess the time of day with staggering accuracy based on the noises that floated in from the open window, as well as distinguish and recognize the dozens of voices around her whenever she accompanied the Lady to the market. 

If noises could be catalogued like words in a dictionary, Twilight’s personal catalogue would contain hundreds of sounds by then, categorized by source and frequency. But, if each and every one were to be categorized from the one she liked least to the one she held dearest in her heart, the two distinct sounds that would tie for top spot were both sounds only Twilight was privileged to hear together: her Lady humming over the sound of her treadle sewing machine. 

(The Lady had been a dressmaker, you see, long ago, before the curse that befell her. A profession she’d picked up again as the ever-lovely Miss Aurora, selling dresses and suits and mending torn clothes in exchange for coin to provide Twilight home and hearth and three full meals a day).  

Every day, long into the night, the Lady’s machine would sing a very precise and soothing song, the accompaniment to the Lady’s voice as she hummed melodies that felt to Twilight as if they were from ages past—which they probably were, all things considered. 

And yet, that night, long after Sugar had left, after the Lady had returned from her errands, after dinner had been served and cleared up, the guard could hear only one of her favorite sounds. 

Tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk. 

“My Lady?” 

The sewing machine stopped, and the dulcet tones came from somewhere in the room. 

“Yes, my heart?” 

“Is everything all right?” 

“But, of course. Why do you ask? Should they not be?” 

“No, everything is fine,” Twilight replied, unsure of how to proceed and a little embarrassed at the prospect of misjudging the situation. To point out that she was concerned over the Lady not humming felt somewhat silly. She fidgeted on the couch, wishing she had a book to pretend to read. “I was only asking. You’ve been, ah, quiet?” 

“Ah. I’m just focused, dear. Are you restless?” 

“No, my Lady. I’m fine.” 

“Well, I hope you’re not being quiet on my behalf.” The sewing machine started back up. Tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk. “I won’t be working on this much longer tonight.” 

Twilight’s ears perked up. “Are you almost done?” 

“Oh, heavens, no. Far from it, but I’ve had enough for today.” 

Twilight nodded.

Tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk. 

“What are you working on?” 

“Costumes for some of the foals!” 

“Oh! For Longest Night?” Twilight asked, referring to the yearly holiday where foals wore frightening costumes and tried to terrify each other. “That’s next week, isn’t it?” 

“Indeed it is, and if last year is anything to go by, it’ll be very busy for me this time around.” Her tone softened. “Busy, busy, busy.” 

Tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk. 

“What costumes have they asked for?” Twilight continued, in the darkness trying to find her Lady, trying to imagine her expression, her face, her. She was never exactly the same in Twilight’s mind—a strange sort of amalgamation of the creature Twilight remembered and a softer, healthier one she’d made up. 

“All sorts of things!” A pause, and then affection soaked every word when she spoke again. “Several guard costumes, in fact. You continue to awe the little ones even now. They were telling me all about it at the market today! They want to put on a little show, emulate you and bravely vanquish a great enemy of some sort.” 

Twilight blanched. “You’re not making a costume of a king, are you?” 

To say the Lady laughed would be incorrect. The delightful noise that filled the room was much more akin to a shrieking cackle, the sort that came out just raspy enough that, for a moment, Twilight got to hear the gravelly, sand-like voice she often missed. 

“Heavens, no. It would be a grand day if any pony in this kingdom thought of that wretch as something else than a poor martyred soul you were manipulated into slaying. No, no, not the king, no. Something else will be their poor, hapless victim.” 

Twilight felt her spirit relax. “Oh, good. What are they—” 

“Dear heart,” the Lady interrupted, “I’m sorry, but I do want to finish this up for tonight. I won’t be long.” 

“Oh. Of course, my Lady, I’m sorry to interrupt.” 

“Interrupt? No.” The sound of the Lady getting up came next, followed by her hoofsteps, and before she knew it, a forehoof delicately caressed Twilight’s cheek. “You are never an interruption, Twilight.” 

Twilight smiled. “Except for when I am.” 

“A rare occasion that only happens when I sleep in, and you decide the sun should see my face before I consider it appropriate.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Hmmmmm!” 

The hoof left her cheek, hoofsteps then followed, and once again came the tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk-tchk, deprived of its usual melodic companion, which left Twilight to her thoughts. 

The foals admired her? That made her happy, if only because it meant she and the Lady were still protected, still in the town’s good graces, unwittingly sheltering two criminals that had found happiness despite it all. 

She only wished they knew that out of two ponies in that room, or even in the whole wide world, Twilight was not the braver one. 

There were things she no longer remembered. 

She remembered shapes, ideas, notions of what particular objects were and what they were supposed to look like, but with each passing day, it was rare there wasn’t a time she wouldn’t realize with a start that she could no longer conjure up the exact look of something she once knew very well. 

It was strange what she retained and what she did not. She remembered her brother’s face clear as day, could see him as if he were standing before her, but for the life of her she could not materialize the shape of the castle she’d lived in most of her life, envisioning it more like a foal’s drawing of a castle. 

“What do you mean you don’t remember what dragons look like?”

Twilight ‘looked’ away from the sun—its location something she could only guess at based on what position her face felt the warmest—and turned her head towards the general direction of the colt. 

“I don’t. Not really, it’s more like…” She drifted off, unsure of how to explain that she was reasonably certain the amorphous blob in her mind that felt like a dragon probably was not. “It’s just shapes. I know what a scale looks like. And fangs, and fire, and a tail, but when I put them together—” She gestured vaguely. “They just… don’t work.”

“Aw, rats.”

She smiled. “I’m sure your costume is still very frightening,” she reassured. 

“No, no, I can describe it again! So, he’s green, and also purple, and also spikey, and—”

“Storm,” came her Lady’s voice, stern, “don’t pester poor Twilight.”

“But Miss Aurora—”

“It’s fine, Miss Aurora,” Twilight reassured her. Her blindness was, understandably, a touchy subject with the Lady. “I’ll try again later. Maybe I just need some time to put things together.”

“What about a guard?” a filly asked, tugging at Twilight’s foreleg, the unicorn looking towards the darkness in that general direction. “You remember that? I’m gonna be one!”

“Me too!” exclaimed a third voice, and then a fourth, and fifth. 

“I remember what a guard looks like.” 

This wasn’t a lie. She remembered how she looked and was—had been—a guard, which technically counted well enough.

“Miss Aurora mentioned you were putting on a show?” Twilight asked. 

“Oh, that’s a surprise!” the Lady said. Quickly. “You’re not supposed to tell them you know, dear!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a surprise,” said one of the foals. Twilight felt him place a hoof on her leg, patting it with great excitement. “We’re gonna be a guard like you and kill a monster!”

Twilight giggled. “Ooooh. Are you slaying the dragon?”

“What? No!” said the foal who unwittingly and unknowingly became as terrible as a dragon when he exclaimed, “We’re killing the creature!”

It was only because she was already blind that the world did not go black. 

“…The creature?”

“The one that hurt you! We’re going to kill it! Well… we’re killing Frosty, but you know!”

They sounded overjoyed. Excited. Thrilled. All of them erupted in gleeful chatter as Twilight’s blood ran cold. 

And colder still when a filly added, delighted, “and Miss Aurora is making the costume!”

“Is she.”

The Lady was quiet. 

“Mm! She said it’s going to be just as scary as the drawing from the poster!”

“And uglier!” added a foal. 

“Did she.”

“Now, children, let’s not spoil all the surprises,” said the Lady, her voice weak wherever she was, farther away from Twilight than what Twilight remembered. But, then again, she was not feeling well, so she could be misremembering, just like she could be somehow mishearing the foals. 

“Miss Twilight.”

Twilight was barely aware of the filly tugging on her leg again. 

“If we kill the real monster, would that fix your eyes?”

If there was one benefit to being blind at that moment, it was entirely for the Lady, as Twilight was reasonably certain she was glaring in the wrong direction. 

“You see?” the Lady said from somewhere in the room. She sounded irritated, which was rich considering the only pony allowed to feel irritated was certainly not her. “This is precisely why I didn’t tell you! I knew it was just going to upset you!”

“Yes, it did upset me,” Twilight replied curtly. “You still should have told me.”

“I was going to!” the Lady insisted, now somewhere behind Twilight, drawers opening and closing. 

“When?”

“Eventually.” More drawers were closed and opened. 

“What does ‘eventually’ mean? And what are you doing?”

“I don’t know, Twilight! I’m just opening things! It’s hardly a crime.” A final drawer was slammed shut, and after a moment, a voice cut through the dark. “This isn’t exactly easy for me to tell you.”

Twilight’s ears lowered, and her frown vanished. There was no use being upset. It was an awful situation any which way you put it. 

“…I know. I just… I hate that you have to hide.” It was a struggle to keep her voice level and maintain the training she’d had for years, where strong emotions got in the way of logic and sensibility. “I hate that everypony thinks you’re some awful monster.” 

“It’s fine,” the Lady insisted. She was somewhere to the left of Twilight now, sounding close enough she was tempted to reach out and try to grasp her. “I have endured far worse things than foals playing pretend.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Twilight exhaled and braced for the argument she was about to begin. 

“What time is it?” she asked. 

“Nearly midnight.” 

“Today is feeding day, and unless I somehow forgot an hour of my day, I don’t remember having my blood drawn.” She didn’t need her sight to know that, wherever she was, the Lady was murdering Twilight with her eyes. 

“I wasn’t hungry,” came the reply, slow and chopped, likely pushed through gritted teeth. 

“Huh. See, I know you usually don’t feed when you’re feeling guilty, my Lady.”

“Enough!” A hoof was slammed against something. A table? “Mind your manners, Twilight. I will have you stop your insolence!”

Twilight shrugged. “It was just an observation.” 

“I don’t care about the costumes!” the Lady snapped. “I’m not a child. If I were hurt any time a pony called me a monster, I’d have died of heartbreak long before you were even born.”

“All right, fine. Then this is about my sight.” She waited a moment. No reply came, just another drawer opening and then slamming. Twilight nodded to herself. “So it is about that.”

“…impudent, brazen unicorn…” came a mutter from somewhere. 

“Is it what Lilac said? You think if you die, I’ll suddenly see again?”

“No. But.”

“But?”

The Lady’s voice was precise. “When I feed from you, I don’t feed with the intent to heal.”

“Yes, because healing would change your appearance, and we’d be found out.”

“But if I did—”

“Which you won’t,” Twilight replied firmly. 

As much as Twilight missed her sight—which was tremendously so—she knew how happy the Lady was with her new form. Every morning, she spent delighted hours brushing her mane and taking care of her coat, practically insisting at all times that Twilight touch it so she could feel how soft it was. 

No sight Twilight could see was worth depriving the Lady of that. 

“I am happy with this, my Lady. Well, not our lying, but there’s nothing we can do about that. And I am happy that you’re happy.” She reached out with her hoof. “Please, don’t feel guilty. Promise me.”

It took less than a moment before Twilight felt the Lady wrap a gentle hoof around hers. “You ask difficult things of me, my heart.” Twilight’s hoof was lifted, and a kiss was left on it. “I will try. I can at least promise that.”

There was scarcely a time when Twilight didn’t need rest after a feeding, usually for an hour or two. Long ago, when she could see and was a guard, she would have been irritated at wasting time lounging in bed, but nowadays, she could hardly complain. 

Despite the pain in her neck, it was nice just to lie there for a bit, especially when the Lady so often lay beside her, her more affectionate, care-taking side coming through. It was an amusing thing to think about, really. If years ago, when she’d first met the Lady, somepony had told her the creature she’d met would one day routinely lie next to her and braid her mane, she would have debated scolding that pony for excessive drinking. 

But there she was, the Lady by her side, weaving her way through the French braid she kept doing and undoing in Twilight’s mane. 

“Can’t you… I don’t know, just use your glamour?” Twilight was saying, their conversation still centered around the foals and their play. “Influence them into doing something else for Longest Night?”

“Absolutely not,” said the Lady, Twilight wincing when she pulled on a knot. “I do not like using my glamour for that. It’s not right. Besides, I have an inkling it’s weakened.”

Twilight blinked. “What do you mean?”

The Lady hemmed and hawed. “Oh. It’s just… a feeling, I suppose. Before, I would feed from all sorts of ponies and creatures, so I’d be more, er, attuned to all sorts of ponies. But I’ve only been feeding from you for ages. At this point, I’d imagine my glamour would only really be strong with you, my heart.”

Ignoring the Lady’s protests, Twilight turned to her—not that she could see her, but old habits died hard, especially when her interest was very piqued. 

“As in, you can influence me really well?”

“Mmm. I don’t know if I want to continue this discussion.”

“Oh, please, this is really interesting,” Twilight insisted. This was learning! Knowledge! For somepony in her situation, bored out of her mind half the day, this was more enticing than any dessert. 

“Well…” She could feel the Lady fidgeting in her spot. “I would have to test it out. But, at this rate, your blood runs through me to such a level, I wager it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that calling you my heart is not just metaphorical. So.”

There was a pause. 

“I’ve wondered if I could do more than just simply influence you.”

Twilight sat up so fast she nearly made herself dizzy. “Like what?”

“Good heavens, must you sound so excited? Stop it, it’s concerning.”

“It is exciting! I bet nopony has ever been able to meaningfully study this before!” She leaned in towards where she thought the Lady was. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what exactly?”

“Try and see how far you can influence me.”

“Twilight.”

“My Lady?”

“Are you completely out of your mind? Did I drink too much from you?” Twilight felt a hoof pressed under her horn. “Are you ill?”

Twilight swatted the hoof away. “My Lady! I mean it. I just want to see.”

“Absolutely not! I won’t. I refuse. Influencing is already a violation of your soul, not to mention mine, and I will not entertain this conversation further.” 

Twilight very rarely needed to pout, and considered herself to be out of practice, but she was pleased that her attempt at light and harmless emotional manipulation via facial expression could still bear fruit because, half a moment after her attempt…

“…Gods, fine, you wretch! But only briefly, and you will be content with that, understood?”

“Your generosity knows no bounds, my Lady.”

“And stop being an insolent brat!”

“Yes, my Lady.” Twilight sat up straighter, staring into the black void. It was only then that she realized that, for all her eagerness, she was feeling just a little bit nervous. “All right, do it.”

She waited a moment. Then another. Then a third and fourth, and she cleared her throat when the fifth came along. 

“My Lady?”

“Yes, yes, be patient, filly!”

So Twilight kept waiting, one, two, three moments, and it was as the fourth began that she felt herself stand up. 

Even though she hadn’t meant to do so. 

And just as suddenly, she felt herself climbing out of the bed, her entire body controlled by something—or, somepony—other than herself. Her mind was petrified, analyzing as she continued to walk entirely without her own volition, and after doing an entire round of the room, deftly weaving around furniture and objects she could not see, she finally stopped and felt her mouth open. 

“Hello,” she said, “My name is Twilight Sparkle.”

It was immediately after that whatever hold was on her vanished, and she tumbled to the floor in shock, a single word tumbling out her mouth. 

“Uhm.”

Uhm, indeed. 

She was not on the floor very long because the Lady immediately rushed to her, helping her stand. 

“Are you all right?” the Lady asked, every word out her mouth sounding deeply perturbed. 

“Y-yes, my Lady.” 

“Are you certain?” 

“Yes, of course, my Lady,” Twilight insisted, trying to reign in her still latent shock. “I promise.”

“Good.” Twilight felt the Lady’s grip tighten around her. Her dulcet tone betrayed terror in a way Twilight had only heard from the Lady once, and it was only because she thought they were both about to die for killing the king. “Twilight,” she said, “never ask that of me again. Understood?”

Guilt swept through Twilight like an ocean. Why had she done that? All she’d done was give the Lady another thing to torment her already tormented soul. 

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” she said, genuinely. “I shouldn’t have asked that of you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” the Lady said, quietly, but still guiding Twilight back to the bed to rest. She notably did not rejoin the unicorn on the bed, which only made Twilight feel that much worse. 

“My Lady,” Twilight asked meekly, “will you lie with me a bit longer?”

For all her anger, the Lady was not unkind, replying as soon as Twilight finished speaking. “I suppose I could a little longer.” If her statement was meant to sound detached or disinterested, she was betrayed by her body, which barely protested as Twilight nuzzled her apologetically. The Lady’s forehoof wrapped around her guard. 

“The things I do for you,” she said, ruefully but half-heartedly. “I used to be feared! Ponies trembled at the idea of me. Now look at me.”

Twilight laughed. “You have always been soft. No matter how rude the pony I brought you to heal was, you didn’t once turn me away. You love to help others too much.”

“No,” the Lady said. “I love to help you. Other ponies are just blessed to benefit while I’m already in the mood.”

“Is that what you told yourself when you spent three days last week making food for Harmony because she was still crying over her husband leaving?”

The Lady failed to sound stern as she said, “Quiet, you wretch. Or I won’t be reading you the next chapter of our book. I’ll read it in silence, and only I will know if Aegis Breach is still tormented by unrequited love.”

“My Lady, that’s uncalled for…” 

From the sounds of it, a great deal of ponies had come to watch the little performance, all gathered before a stage set out in the village square. 

Though Twilight had prepared herself to be mostly lost the entire time, Sugar had seated herself on her left side and tasked herself with quickly relaying whatever the foals were doing to Twilight. She appreciated the gesture but was barely paying attention, too focused on the Lady sitting beside her on the opposite side. 

She’d been quiet so far, occasionally idly brushing an affectionate hoof up and down Twilight’s foreleg, and sometimes muttering to herself over some detail or other she’d noticed on a costume. Twilight’s tail was wrapped around her comfortingly, an action the Lady usually disapproved of in public. Ponies gossiped and such, she’d say, and when Twilight replied that even if there were something to gossip about, she could not care less, the Lady would always huff with great annoyance. 

Somepony had asked her once what she and the Lady were, and they were evidently just slightly disappointed when Twilight replied that they ‘just were’. But it was the truth. What she and the Lady were had no name that felt right, no apt description. They were what they were, a Lady and her devoted knight. 

“It’s over!”

“Raaaaargh!”

Somewhere, a dragon was dying, to the exaggerated gasps of many adults surrounding Twilight. She still didn’t remember what dragons looked like, which saddened her as she would have liked to appreciate the Lady’s craftmareship. 

“Oh, uhm.” Sugar’s voice lowered. “Here it comes. You’ll be okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Twilight replied, wishing she could ask the Lady the same. As discreetly as she could, she pawed at the Lady with her forehoof, and when the Lady took it in hers, Twilight squeezed back. 

And thus it began, with a foalish, screeching cackle. 

“So! You’ve found me!”

The reaction was instant. The gasps ringing through the air were not pretend. 

“My gods! That’s hideous!” a stallion exclaimed behind them, and it was all Twilight could do to stop herself from whacking him when she felt him lean in and give the Lady an amiable clap on her back. “Great job, Aurora!”

“Thank you,” she replied, graciously, “I try my best.”

“But it doesn’t matter!” screeched the Creature. Silence followed, enough that Twilight was going to prod Sugar Song for a description, but then a scandalized gasp raked the air. “What?! No! My mind powers!” 

“Ha ha!” exclaimed the foal Twilight knew was playing the main guard. “Stupid creature! We have mental shields!”

“What?! Noooooo!” 

“Surround it!” 

More noises erupted in the air, of foals yelling and presumably surrounding the Creature. This was quickly followed by The Creature crying out, pleading. 

“Please! Please, no! I’m too beautiful to die!”

The crowd laughed, Twilight noticed, but none as louder as, for that moment, the Lady herself, letting out a very amused laugh. Twilight leaned in against her, grinning. 

“You agree with her, then, my Lady?”

“Hush.”

One of the foals called out. 

“Be quiet, beast!”

Then, their leader spoke next as hush fell over the crowd, Twilight feeling the Lady’s grip tighten around her hoof. 

“For our kingdom!” he said, and the crowd repeated his words. “For the good King Violet!” he said, and the crowd repeated his words. “Foul creature,” he said, and the crowd cheered as he finished, “I condemn you to death!”

The screams of the filly filled the air, her shrieking piercing Twilight’s eardrums, and no sooner did she finish, no sooner did Sugar whisper with joy, ‘She’s dead! She’s dead!’ that Twilight heard the crowd stand and joyfully stomp their hooves in celebration of the play. 

Twilight stayed quiet, feeling slightly sick, and even more so when her Lady took her hoof back so she could stand and stomp her hooves on the ground, joining the others in an applause that went on and on and on. 

“You know, the costumes were quite good. I could open up a proper shop one day. And it was very kind of the foals to pool their allowances to get me such a large bouquet.”

“Mm.”

They’d not stayed for very long after the event, mingling here and there with the ponies that approached them. Most of them wished to congratulate ‘Miss Aurora’ for her work, and it impressed Twilight how nonchalant she was about the entire ordeal. She spoke at length about the practical effects she’d added to… to her own costume to make it ‘uglier’, and there was even a hint of pride. 

“You’re still upset, are you?”

“Yes,” Twilight confessed, her senses focused on the cobblestone under her hooves. They were still somewhere in the village, still far from their home that skirted the forest. 

“But why? Even I’ve moved on.”

“This isn’t what I wanted for you,” Twilight said, voicing a thought that plagued her so often. 

“How do you mean?”

She stopped. “When I… When I found you in the forest, when I involved you with ponies, I didn’t… I didn’t want to make things worse for you.” Her ears lowered. “You’re not a monster.”

“They’ve always thought I was a monster, Twilight.”

“That’s not true. They thought you were just pretend. Now you really are just—” She drifted off. 

“Here.” Foreign magic lifted Twilight’s hoof and placed it firmly on the Lady’s back. “Come this way.” 

“Where are we going?”

“An alley.”

“An alley?” Twilight frowned. “Why are we going to an alley?”

“So I can devour you whole and spit out your bones, just like Lilac said I could do.” 

Twilight snorted. “Right.” 

The Lady finally stopped—presumably inside an alley—and she spoke. “Sit.”

Despite her confusion, Twilight obeyed and sat down. Once she had, she felt foreign magic lift up both her forehooves. 

“My Lady?”

“I’m going to clean your hooves,” the Lady said, and just so, Twilight felt a soft cloth brush against the bottom of her forehooves. “Because I want you to see me for what I need to say, and I won’t have you doing so with dirty hooves.”

“Oh,” Twilight said, a little flustered, feeling as self-conscious as she always was when the Lady gave her such attention. She was a guard! She was the one meant to do acts of service, so she never quite knew how to react when the Lady took care of her so delicately, as if she were the one with a higher station. 

After a minute, the cloth vanished, and her hooves were lifted until they were gently pressed against soft cheeks. 

“Twilight,” said the Lady, just as Twilight trailed her right hoof down the side of the Lady’s chin, tracing the edge of a jawline and illustrating it in her mind. “Do you think your Lady a liar?”

“…No, my Lady.”

“Then why don’t you believe me when I say I’m happy here?” 

“I believe you,” Twilight protested, her hooves stopping, her outlining of the Lady’s face interrupted. 

“If you did, you wouldn’t spend half your day worried over me. Am I wrong?”

Lavender hooves lifted, brushing against eyes, wanting to stop the Lady from seeing her contrite expression. 

“You’re not wrong,” she replied, lamely. 

Her hooves were caught in magic and then were lowered all the way until they were over the Lady’s chest, right above where her dead heart was. 

“I’m happy here, Twilight. I am happy to be here, and I would gladly watch a thousand plays of what a monster I am if it means that I get to spend another year here with you and everypony else in the village. You don’t have to take care of me.” 

“Yes, I do,” Twilight protested. “I’m your guard. You’re my Lady.”

The Lady laughed, charmed. “Twilight Sparkle, you never cease to amaze.” She took Twilight’s hooves in hers and lifted them, planting a kiss on each one. “What if I want to take care of you, hmm?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Darling.”

Twilight frowned. “I don’t need to be taken care of beyond the minimum.”

“Around furniture and the kitchen?” She laughed when Twilight rolled her eyes, and when Twilight’s hooves were finally let go, it was so she could brush back her bangs. “You’ve done enough for me, my heart. If you really want to do more, you should let me do what you said I love the most.”

“…To help others?”

“To help you. You have sacrificed so much for me. It’s only fair I get to have some of this self-sacrificing glory, mmm?” 

One, two, three moments passed, and finally Twilight spoke, giggling. 

“All right, my Lady. I’ll try.”

“You’ll try! How generous.” The Lady pressed a hoof against Twilight’s cheek, and Twilight leaned in on instinct so the Lady could leave a kiss on her forehead. “I suppose that will have to do.”

Every so often, Twilight Sparkle would accompany the Lady as she sold her various wares at the market. She’d wear a light disguise—usually a head-wrap to hide her mane and a long black cloak to hide her body—just in case somepony from outside the village was visiting and remembered the wanted posters a bit

 too well. 

Her sword, too, always went with her, tucked under the cloak and secured by a belt. Of course, it wasn’t as if she could use it, but it was a habit she refused to lose. If she ever needed it or, gods forbid, the Lady did, then Twilight felt better knowing they had a weapon at their disposal. 

“The pouches are selling rather well, aren’t they?” the Lady noted, she and Twilight sitting behind their booth. “I might do more in different colors.”

“What colors have you done them in already?”

“Let’s see… Red, a light pink…” 

Her sentence stopped cold. 

“My Lad—?”

Twilight jumped with a start when the Lady grabbed her foreleg. Hard. 

“Hide.” This was not a suggestion. It was an order, hissed. “Now.”

Out of sheer instinct, Twilight stood up straight and alert, ready to obey, only to realize: “Where? I can’t see. And why do I need to—”

Her question was cut short and replaced with a yelp when the Lady grabbed her with preternatural force and all but shoved her under the table, hiding her behind the tablecloth. 

Everything was happening so fast. They were talking, and now she’d been forcibly bundled away entirely without prompting or warning, the Lady planting herself before Twilight so the guard could not leave her new home. 

“My Lady?” Twilight whispered, alarmed. “What’s happening?!”

The Lady ignored her, greeting a customer with such delight and normalcy that Twilight wondered if she was the subject of some very strange prank. She called for her Lady again when she heard the customer bid farewell, and again she was ignored just in time for another customer to stop by. 

“Good afternoon!” said the Lady, her voice slightly higher than usual. 

“Good afternoon!” came the reply. A stallion. His voice was familiar, but try as she might, Twilight couldn’t place it. Someone from the village? 

“Welcome to my humble shop, good sir,” the Lady continued. “Anything you’re interested in?”

“Oh, I’m just looking. I love your pouches.”

“Why, thank you! I made them myself,” she replied with her usual charm. 

As the conversation continued, the stallion asking for prices, details on the materials and the like, all Twilight could do was lie there in complete confusion. Their conversation sounded normal. 

Wasn’t it? 

“I’m sorry,” blurted the stallion. He sounded sheepish. “But have we met before?”

The Lady hummed. “I don’t believe so, good sir. I’m afraid I’ve never met you before.”

“Oh. Hm. Are you sure? I don’t know why, but you seem—”

“I’m quite sure,” the Lady interrupted. Strained. And then she giggled like a schoolgirl. “I’m sure I’d remember a handsome face like yours.”

“How funny! I’m sorry, it might be somepony else I’m mistaking you for. Unless you’ve been to the capital before?”

Twilight froze. The capital? 

“The capital? Oh no! The capital is far too big for me, I fear. I’m quite happy here. I’ve never felt the need to leave and have never done so. And with that awful forest around it? No, thank you.”

The stallion laughed. “The forest isn’t so bad!” he chirped. “Especially now with that thing gone.”

“Oh, yes. Thank goodness for that,” the Lady replied. “If we’re lucky, it’s somewhere far away from here. Might be dead already! We can only hope.”

“Ooooh!” A newcomer. A mare, Twilight realized. Was it Amber? One of the local teachers? It sounded like her. “Are we talking about the creature?” 

“We are!” the stallion replied. 

“Amber, good afternoon,” said the Lady politely. 

“You’re not from here,” Amber continued, and then hastily added, “Isn’t it just awful how that thing manipulated that poor guard? Poor thing must feel so guilty! I’m sure she’s a wonderful mare, completely innocent.” 

Twilight buried her face in her hooves, repressing a groan. She appreciated everything the villagers did to constantly try to protect her and clear her name, but could they please try and be a little less… that?

“You don’t have to convince me. I knew Twilight Sparkle very well. She lived right near me, a few houses over,” said the stallion, and it was only then that Twilight placed him. Sunrise Spirit, the accountant down by the street, who, she realized with horror, wasn’t just any pony. He was—

“In fact.” He cleared his throat and then lowered his voice, damning Twilight. “She took me to see it once.”

“What?” gasped Amber. “The creature?!”

“The very same!” 

The Lady was quiet. 

He was sick, explained the stallion, as Twilight listened with growing horror. She remembered every detail as he spoke it. The terrible fever, killing him. His family, desperate, having heard of deathly ill ponies who visited Twilight and were miraculously healed only days later. Twilight, caving, like she had again and again and again. 

“It healed you?” Amber was agog. 

“It did! I am alive because of her.”

“How curious,” said the Lady, the first words she’d spoken in minutes. “Perhaps she’s not a monster, then?”

“What do you mean?” Amber asked, sounding genuinely upset. “Yes, it is! It killed King Violet.”

No, Twilight wanted to snap, I killed him. Me! Stop blaming her!

But, unfortunately, other more pressing concerns materialized as the Lady spoke, flatly. 

“Allegedly,” she said. “Maybe he threatened her?”

“Aurora!” Amber yelped, voicing Twilight’s very same flabbergasted thought, “What are you saying?”

“Just theorizing, dear,” said the Lady, her nonchalance only sounding fake to Twilight as she backtracked. “Don’t mind me.” 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him,” Sunrise Spirit said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “It was hideous. Who wouldn’t feel attacked just by looking at it?”

I should have let him die, Twilight thought bitterly. He wasn’t even grateful. None of them were. 

“In any case,” said the Lady, loudly, “I should really urge you on, please.”

“What did she look like?” Amber asked, ignoring her completely. 

“Oh, hm.” Sunrise hummed thoughtfully. “Well… She had a mane, I remember. It was—”

His sentence stopped cold. Twilight sat there, heart storming in her chest, dread filling her entirely. Every second that followed was agony of the highest order. 

“Well?” asked Amber. “What about her mane?”

He spoke. Quickly. 

“You know, I just remembered, I really should be moving along.” 

“But—”

“Goodbye, goodbye! Have a lovely evening!”

Oh, gods, Twilight thought. 

Amber spoke again after a moment. “Thank goodness Twilight wasn’t here. Healed him! Hah! What do you think it actually did to him?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” the Lady said flatly. “But I really do need you to move along, Amber.”

It was chaos. 

Not that Twilight could see it, of course, but she could hear it all around her, drowning her desperate pleas to take a minute to breathe. Drawers being flung open, cupboards being emptied, the Lady desperately packing everything into anything that fit it. 

“My Lady,” Twilight begged, “please, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” the Lady shrieked, her voice bursting at the seams, every part of her seemingly in shambles. 

“I’m sure he didn’t recognize you!” Twilight insisted because to believe otherwise was too terrible. She was surely too different now. He must have thought of something else. “It’s okay, it’s fin—”

“You didn’t see his face!” the Lady interrupted, edged with fear. “You didn’t see how he walked away! He recognized me, and we need to leave now, and it’s probably too late, but—”

“Lady Rarity!” Twilight said, sharp and loud. “Stop.”

The chaos stopped. So, Twilight took a breath and continued: 

“My Lady.” She was terrified, but she tried her best to ensure her affection poured through. Her faith in them both. “Please. We don’t have to throw away everything we’ve built. We have the town with us. We have each other.”

She waited for an answer. She waited for what felt like ages, her blank eyes beseeching, until finally the Lady spoke in a fractured voice.

“Is this it?”

She sounded so frail. So weak. Tired. 

“Is this what it will be like? Our life? Is this what it’s going to be?”

“…My Lady.”

“Always on the run?” the Lady continued, her voice far away and her mind probably even more so. “Always afraid, any happiness always at risk, never at peace, no matter how hard I try to give you the life you deserve?”

Tears stung at Twilight’s eyes. 

“My Lady… Please…”

A beat. Silence. 

Then, the Lady spoke again.

“I could turn myself in.” 

“What?” 

“I could turn myself in,” she repeated, and Twilight was horrified to hear hope in her voice. “Most of this bloody kingdom thinks I tricked you into killing the king!” She was near Twilight now, an almost desperate, manic cadence to her voice. “If I turn myself in, I can confirm it, and then you’ll be able to walk away free, go back home, have a life—”

“No,” Twilight snapped, slamming her hoof against the floor. “Are you insane?!”

“Why not?!” demanded the Lady. 

“What about you?! You can’t just—”

“I am a monster, Twilight!” Every word lacerated with angry bitterness. “I feed from the blood of others to live. I am hated because I should be hated.”

“That’s not true,” Twilight protested. 

“It is. And I should have known from the start that any happiness I have is borrowed.” The desperation reared its head. “I don’t care what happens to me. I care what happens to you, and if I turn myself—”

“I said no!” Twilight exploded, the first and only time she’d ever done so. “I did not kill the king so you could throw your life away!”

The Lady said nothing. 

Twilight took a steadying breath. She could not lose her cool. She did not want to lose her cool. Wars were won with level-headed sensibility, not disorienting emotions. 

“Lady Rarity, I want to see you,” Twilight asked softly. “Please.”

She heard nothing at first, and just as her ears lowered, they perked up at hearing hoofsteps approaching until they stopped right in front of her. Twilight gingerly lifted her forehooves until she found her Lady’s face. Just as she did every time, she traced the contour of it, the shape of the jawline, brushed it past trembling lips, alongside a thin muzzle, until finally, she wiped away burning hot tears from her Lady’s eyes. 

“I promised I’d protect you. I promised we’d do this together. Everything will be all right,” she assured, certain not because she knew it for a fact, but because she would die ensuring it was not a lie. “If… If you want to leave, then we will.”

“I don’t know,” the Lady said, harrowed. “I don’t know what to do. I could just leave without you.”

“You could,” Twilight said. She smiled. “But no matter where you went, I would always find my way back home to you, my Lady.”

“You insufferable mare,” the Lady whispered, endlessly affectionate. 

“We’ll start packing. Properly. And if you still want to leave when we’re done, we’ll say goodbye to everypony and leave. All right?”

And finally, after another long silence, Twilight felt a forehead press against hers, and the Lady spoke, resigned, almost resentful, shattered with fear. 

“All right.”

One day passed. 

The Lady and her guard stayed in, the former tirelessly packing away their life, while the latter kindly refused Sugar’s visit, citing the Lady was not feeling well. 

No one else came. 

Another day passed. 

Once more, they stayed in all day, the Lady packing her workshop. On her side, Twilight politely entertained the many villagers who’d brought care packages upon hearing the Lady was sick.

No one else came. 

A third day rolled by. 

As she packed away Twilight’s bedroom, the Lady stopped. 

Maybe, she said, maybe they got away with it. 

No one else came. 

On the fourth day, the Lady went out just to calm the anxious neighbors and show them she was fine and not dying, while Twilight stayed home and entertained Sugar Song. 

When the Lady returned in the evening, she seemed in higher spirits, and thus Twilight was also. 

“I’m nearly done packing,” she said. 

“Oh. Are we leaving, then?” Twilight asked, feeling a weight in her heart. She wanted to lament the loss of her home, but they could rebuild. And, besides, her true home was wherever her Lady went. 

“Yes,” said the Lady. “I want you safe. That’s all I care for.”

“My Lady… If you’re only doing this for—” 

“Please, Twilight. Don’t argue.”

“…Yes, my Lady.”

It was at about half past eleven in the evening that their neighbor, Wild Ace, came by in a frenzy, his hooves slamming against their door, the two mares finding out that royal guards had descended upon the sleepy little village. 

“They’re coming for Twilight!” he exclaimed, despairingly. He was guessing at it, which made sense, as it was the only thing that made sense to him. “They’ll be here any minute!”

Just as fast as he gave the alert did he leave, rushing to try and get help from others, rouse up the village, see if they could stall the guards, beg for time, proclaim her innocence. 

But it was too late for her, Twilight knew. 

But not for the Lady. 

“You need to leave,” she begged, looking for her Lady in the dark. “You can still leave!”

“No,” said the Lady, “not without you.”

“I can’t leave!” Twilight protested, in tears. “I can’t—I can’t walk, I can’t—I would only slow you down, you can still leav—”

“And do what, Twilight?! Let them execute you?”

“They’ll execute both of us if you stay! At least this way—”

“This way what?!” The Lady was in front of her now. “I get to live another year or so before they find me again? Do you think taking you in will stop the search for me? You’re not saving me, Twilight, you’d only be prolonging the inevitable.” 

“But—” 

“They will not stop until they see me dead.”

“Yes, they might,” Twilight pleaded, her voice breaking, because she knew it was a lie, she knew it, she knew they wouldn’t stop, she—

“I can’t be saved.” Grief soaked every syllable. “But you can. I want you to live on.” 

But what they wanted no longer mattered. 

“Come out!” howled a guard, his hoof slamming against the locked door. “We know you’re in there! You’re surrounded!”

There was no running anymore. 

No escape. 

Only what came next. 

So, together as they did everything, a Lady and her guard stepped out of their home. 

Judgement day came in the shape of a whole host of ponies, chief among them the many guards Twilight could hear encircling the house’s entrance, their harness and armour rattling, their lances clattering as they levelled them towards the two mares. Surrounding them, based on their cries and chatter, was most of the village, having come to try and help in whatever way they could, even if they feared the guards terribly. 

The criminals were quiet, the guard desperately trying to come up with a solution, anything, something, while her Lady simply watched, deathly silent. 

“Please,” Sugar Song pleaded, “Twilight is a good pony!”

“She was tricked!” begged another. 

“Quiet!” commanded the head guard, whose voice Twilight recognized. They’d trained together, sparred in the training hall long after hours. 

She could turn herself in. Right there. Right then. Put all the attention on her. 

“It’s fine,” she said, and she could see the Lady react, looking to her with wide, panicked eyes. “They can take me.” She stepped away from the Lady. “I’ll go willingly.”

“No,” he said. “You’re both coming with us.”

And now that? That got a reaction. 

“Both?!” stammered a stallion. 

Aurora? Sweet Aurora, who had lived there since anypony remembered? Who laughed like wind chimes except when she shrieked at bad jokes, who was as beautiful as the day was long, who had generously taken a blind, injured, deceived pony under her wings?

The guard was baffled. 

“Are you all idiots?! Can you not see she’s the creature?!”

Cries of shock and disbelief rang out. “What?!”s and “Are you mad?!”s and so many more. Is the guard the idiot? She’s not a monster; doesn’t even look like one!

“Gods above,” the guard said, “but you’ve all been tricked! She has you under her spell!” He took a breath and then looked back to Twilight and the Lady. “You are all good ponies. Stand down.”

“Twilight is innocent!” Sugar insisted. 

“Twilight could still be under control of that thing! Enough!” It was clear he’d had enough of giving explanations to the villagers. “Both of you, kneel.”

“Please,” Twilight said, “this isn’t what—”

But before she could say more, her sentence died strangled in her throat when, faster than she could process, with eldritch speed and force, she was suddenly caught in a chokehold, a foreleg angled against her throat in such a way she could not speak. 

Then came the Lady’s voice, controlled, precise, chillingly calm. 

“Take another step, and she dies.”

Startled, Twilight tried to speak. Tried to say anything, something, but she could not, held completely tight. 

“Oh, be a good girl and be quiet, you wretch. You’ve outlived your use.”

Gasps and cries of shock rang out. But all Twilight could hear was her Lady’s voice as she continued to speak, Twilight in vain trying to free herself from her grip. 

“He deserved to die.” She meant every word. “Nothing in his soul was good.”

“How dare you!” snarled the guard. 

“Oh, dear. I would not take another step if I were you, child.”

Please, Twilight wanted to scream, don’t do this. Please. 

“We’re not afraid of you, beast!”

A cackle pierced the air, loud and shrill and grating like sandpaper. 

“Oh? No? How brave. Why don’t I give you a reason to be afraid, then?” 

Once more, before she could process it happening, Twilight Sparkle was roughly angled into a different position and then felt searing, burning pain in her neck as the Lady bit into it, hard. 

But this time was different. 

Every other time, she felt pained afterwards, weak, as though her strength were leaving, which was mostly always the case. And yet, as the Lady drank, all Twilight felt was a stinging sensation in her eyes. The same kind of burn one feels when a healing ointment is applied to a fresh wound. 

“No,” Twilight gasped, the only word she could get out, “stop.”

A cacophony of sounds erupted in the air, stressful and alarming to a poor mare who was already dazed and disoriented. “My gods, what’s happened to her?!” and “How awful!”, retching and cries of disgust, but among them all, there was only one thing said that mattered to Twilight. 

It was a plea not whispered in the dulcet, velvet tones Twilight was used to, but in a voice like sand. 

“Forgive me, Twilight. Forgive me.”

Twilight was then shoved to the ground,  her mind a frazzled mess, her senses still distracted by the burning in her eyes, only barely able to listen to what was said next. 

“Tell me,” said the Creature, its voice gravelly and coarse and unpleasant, “are we still feeling brave?” 

Twilight’s eyes flew open from the sheer horror of what was happening, only to find that it wasn’t darkness that greeted her, that familiar pitch black. Instead, to her shock, she was greeted with blurry sight, things and forms and blobs made visible, as if a slightly opaque veil were covering her eyes. 

“What did you do to her?!” one of the villagers gasped. 

“Only what she deserved,” rasped the creature, and she sounded hateful enough that they all believed her. But it was not the hate Twilight cared for. Even then, even in that voice, Twilight knew her Lady well, like the back of her hoof, like they were one and the same. 

So she could hear the weakness in the Lady’s voice. The exhaustion. The illness, the disease. 

The hazy figures began to move close, the blurry sticks she knew were swords pointed towards them. They were going to kill the Lady. They were going to—

“Wait!” she begged, pooling together every ounce of her energy to speak. “Stop! Don’t touch her!”

The blurs stopped. The largest one spoke, gesturing to her.

“Do you see?! She is still under its control! Even now!”

A moment passed. It must have been less than a minute, less than a blink. It came and went, and before everypony, Twilight lifted a foreleg. Then another, until she heaved herself up, stood up straight and spoke. 

“No. I should be the one to deal with it.” 

Twilight was turned around, until in the haze she saw a figure on the ground, ugly and decaying, visibly weak. 

Please, she thought, unable to scream it as she wanted to. It doesn’t have to be this way. 

“Foul beast.”

“You wretch!” hissed the Lady. “How have you freed—?!”

“Shut up.”

“See!” screamed Sugar. “She’s good! She’s good.”

“Twilight!” the head guard said, and she was horrified to hear relief. Trust. “Be careful!”

No, Twilight wanted to scream, the only action that was hers was the uncontrollable action of the tears coursing from her eyes, shut up! Shut up, don’t you see, you’re proving her right! 

“You dare—!” The Lady’s hiss was cut short by her own coughing, real and painful. 

“You’ve tricked me! And every good pony here!”

“I have,” said the Lady, and though she tried to sound harsh, Twilight could hear the sincerity in the statement. “I did what I had to do to protect what matters most. I would ask for forgiveness, but… I would do it again if I had to.”

“Quiet! The gods are the only ones who can forgive your crimes!” snarled the head guard. 

“The gods? I don’t care about gods,” said the Lady. “There is only one in this land whose forgiveness I hope one day to have.” 

She paused. 

“But it’s late. I’m tired.”

Twilight’s hoof lifted, and all she could do was want to scream when it reached for her sword. 

“Twilight. I need a favor from you. Will you grant me one?”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

“I will die soon. It will be slow and painful, I expect. It’s part of my… my curse, if you will. But you can make it quick.”

“My Lady…”

“I’ve seen you use your sword. You can make it fast, can’t you? Painless.”

As she gripped it, unsheathed it, the haze lifted even more, enough that she could see faces and their expressions and the vague sight of her Lady looking up at her. There, in that angle where only Twilight could see every ounce of emotion, she found there was no anger in the Lady’s face. No resentment. There was just affection, as endless as the sea, and an exhaustion that only an ending could cure. 

“I’m not afraid,” said the Lady. 

Twilight was gutted to know what sounded like a threat to everypony else was meant as a reassurance to her. I’m sorry. It’s okay. I love you. I’m sorry. 

And a play by foals was breathed into new life. 

“For our kingdom.”

She stepped forward. 

“For the good King Violet.”

She raised her sword. 

“Foul creature, I condemn you to death.”

Letting out a scream no one but her could hear, Twilight Sparkle slew the monster.